


Art Appreciation

by RockyMountainRattlesnake



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Art, Gen, Humor, Implied/Referenced Torture, Silly, paintings, these are tags and they are together, trust me - Freeform, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:35:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27232861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockyMountainRattlesnake/pseuds/RockyMountainRattlesnake
Summary: The Doctor has fended off torture of all kinds from all comers, from monsters hell-bent on stealing the secrets locked in his mind. He's learned to resist even the most sadistic of methods for as long as he can, because the alternative is unthinkable- for himself and the universe.Of course, his current interrogator may have just cracked the one way to get him to talk...
Relationships: Amy Pond/Rory Williams
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	Art Appreciation

Amy sighed and paced back and forth in the tiny cell. This wasn’t her first time being locked up, but it was still new enough for Rory that he looked genuinely alarmed.

Rory sat on the small bed, the only furniture in the tiny cell, holding his head in his hands.

“What’s with the paintings?” Amy wondered aloud, looking through the bars at a painting that someone had hung on the wall opposite their cage. It was an idyllic scene of a human hybrid feeding some cybernetic horses in a purple meadow. Very peaceful.

“Paintings. The Doctor’s been dragged off to be TORTURED, and you’re asking about PAINTINGS?!” Rory half-yelled, hysteria obvious in his voice, “How- Amy, how-“

Amy shrugged. “Haven’t heard any screaming yet, and it’s been…fifteen minutes. So…it’s probably fine.”

Rory stared at her, eyes locked on the archway that led to the torture chamber next door. They couldn’t see the Doctor from where they sat, but they could certainly hear whatever was happening in there.

And apart from the odd “Ow”, they weren’t hearing much.

“Tell me! Tell me the secret of time travel! The queen demands it!” the torturer yelled, sounding like a high schooler who’d been cast as the villain and was overdoing it mightily.

There was another noncommittal “owwww” from the Doctor, and then they heard him sigh irately.

“Oh please no, stooooop. This is aaaaawfullll.” He droned in a bored monotone.

“YOU DARE SASS ME? I’LL SHOW YOU!” The torturer thundered.

Silence. Not even an ‘ow.’

There was a pregnant pause in which nothing happened.

And then-

“OH FOR GOD’S SAKE, I AM SO BLOODY _BORED!”_ the Doctor shouted, “YOU’RE USELESS, MAN! NEVER IN MY LIFE DID I THINK I’D BE STRAPPED TO A RACK AND _BORED SENSELESS,_ BUT HERE WE ARE!”

“I- what?!” The torturer spluttered, but the Doctor thrashed (making the entire rack audibly creak and rattle) and kept on yelling.

“YOUR POSTURE’S SLOPPY! YOUR TOOLS ARE ALL DULL! FOR GOD’S SAKE, THE CATTLE PROD’S NOT CHARGED, YOUR WHIP’S OLD, THE FIRE FOR THE BRANDING IRON ISN’T STOKED UP, AND YOU’VE BEEN POKING ME WITH A BLOODY _FORK_ FOR THE LAST TEN MINUTES! WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?! WHERE DID YOU LEARN TO BE A TORTURER, _HAIRDRESSING SCHOOL?!”_

“I- I-“ The torturer choked a little- and then his voice returned to its usual over-the-top villain performance.

“YOU DARE QUESTION ME?! I’LL SHOW YOU WHAT TORTURE LOOKS LIKE! HOW DARE YOU!”

There was a loud THWAP.

“A BLOODY NEWSPAPER?! A ROLLED UP NEWSPAPER! HOW DARE YOU! ACTUALLY, GENUINELY, **_HOW DARE YOU!_** I’M INSULTED! I’M GENUINELY OFFENDED! ME, LAST OF THE TIME LORDS, THE DOCTOR, THE ONCOMING STORM, WITH THE KNOWLEDGE OF TIME TRAVEL AT MY FINGERTIPS, AND THE BEST YOU HALF-WITS CAN MANAGE IS A COPY OF THE DAILY MAIL, A DULL STRAIGHT RAZOR, AND A _SALAD FORK!?_ **I DEMAND A COMPETENT BLOODY INTERROGATION!** THIS IS INTOLERABLE! YOU’RE _**USELESS!”**_

Silence.

Amy and Rory shared a look of absolute bewilderment.

And then, a soft sob broke the silence.

“Wha- you’re crying?” the Doctor sounded just as incredulous as Amy felt, “Pull yourself together, man! There’s still some time, you can turn this interrogation around- oh, wow, you’re…uh. Oh, okay, just sob into my tweed, not like I wear that on a _daily basis or anything-“_

“DOCTOR!” Amy yelled, “I think you might’ve hurt his feelings!”

“Wha- I did? Oh. Well…oh.” There was another long pause where the only sound was the torturer crying into the Doctor’s jacket, his muffled sobs echoing off the grim stone walls.

“Listen, I’m sorry I got so harsh. I was all geared up for a valiant resistance and you…you didn’t meet my expectations. It’s okay, though. I’m sure you’re good at lots of things! Things that aren’t torture, maybe?”

“But we’ve always been torturers!” the man sobbed, “Me father, and his father, and his grandfather…we’ve always been torturers! I…I can’t…the family legacy…all the tools…passed from father to s-son!”

“Well, that explains why they’re all bloody broken…fifteen generations of hand-me-downs would do it. Look, you don’t have to live up to your family’s expectations. It’s not their life to live, is it?” the Doctor’s voice was gentle, like he was talking to a frightened child, and the man sniffled.

“I- I- I suppose so. I’m…maybe…” he sobbed again, “But what will I do? Where will I go? How do I make money?”

“Whose paintings are these? Are they yours?” the Doctor asked kindly.

There was another long, pregnant pause.

“Y…yes… my…my mother said…said they were too cheery to put around the house. Said I’d be a dis…disappointment to the family if we had happy people fishing instead of bloody knives on the walls…”

“Well, your mother’s just wrong.” The Doctor said firmly, “I think they look lovely. I’d like that painting of people fishing for my own wall, actually. I think you’ve got a lot of promise. What’s your name, then?”

“Marcius.”

“Well, Marcius, how about this. You cut me down and get your paintings together, and we’ll go down to the middle of town and see about selling a few of them. And possibly starting a revolution. How’s that sound?”

“I…Okay.” Marcius sniffled.

“Brilliant! Well, let’s get to it. You’ve got a lot of talent…just not at torture.”

There was a loud CLANK and a thud as the Doctor stepped out of his restraints, then the shuffling of fabric as he got dressed again.

“Well, let’s get out of here! No sense wasting time!” he said cheerfully, stepping back into the room with his sonic upraised. He opened the cell door with a quick buzz, letting his friends out- and then gestured for them to follow him back to the torture chamber.

“By the way, Pond, you’ve just GOT to see some of these! I don’t think I’ve seen a style like it anywhere in the universe!”

“Do we have time for this, Doctor?”

“Of course! Always time for a little art appreciation before you save the world!”

**Author's Note:**

> This little scene has been picking at my brain for a very long time, and I took a little break from Terminarch to crank this out. I hope you like it! Because it's stupid, but I had fun with it. 
> 
> Let me know your thoughts! I'll get back to working on Terminarch now.


End file.
